Practice
by Sirrius The Moonblade
Summary: Accents include: Highland, Molespeech, Shrew, Multiple Vermin Dialects, Hares, Etc. Read and please review! Let me know if the accents are good. UNBETA'D. Mainly for my fic 'The North'. COVER OWNED BY FORTUNATAFOX ON DEVIANTART, NOT ME!
1. Highland

**A/N: So, I decided to do a Redwall Fanfic. I'm still working on the whole idea, but I have most of the characters planned out. I'm saying this now though- My Fanfic "Sacrifice" Takes priority over all my other ones for the time being, so updates will be slower on this one.**

**Anyways, this isn't the fic, it's just a preview and a way for me to test typing the highland dialogue. Please send a review, I want to know how I did. Any help will be appreciated. These are actual characters for it, Alaerr being the main one. Barrul is a good guy. I'm still following the idea that vermin are vermin, but I'm going to make it more common that a few aren't bad or evil (I mean, it **_**has**_** happened in the book series.) So anyway, here ya go. This scene may be revised when I actually write the FF.**

**Thank you for taking the time to read.**

**DISCLAIMER****: I love Redwall, but alas I don't own it.**

…Alaerr walked near the base of the mountain humming an old otter song, something about the summer Hullaballoo. The young otter was so lost in his own thoughts, he didn't hear the sound of running paws, or the yelp of somebeast tripping. He was completely surprised when somebeast cannoned into him, and both creatures were bowled tails over heads. Alaerr and the other beast simultaneously leapt up, the young otter dusting his fur off. The latter spoke, sounding honestly apologetic about the incident.

"Ah'm sae sorry auld lad, Ah dinnae mean tae hit intae ye like that. Yer no' hurt, are ye?"

Alaerr rubbed a bump that had begun to form on his head. "No, I think I'm okay…," he glanced up at the other beast.

A stoat, whose pale sky blue eyes were full of concern and worry, stood before him. He appeared to be about his age and wore a kilt edged with woodpigeon feathers, which had a nice sized sword in his thin belt. When he spoke he obviously had a thick highland accent.

"Well, that's guid then. No' harm done, Ah trust?" Without waiting for an answer he thrust forth a paw and said, "Ah'm the brawny Barrul, an' who might ye be?"

Alaerr's pale, sand coloured eyes were cautious. He'd been told many bad things about vermin. But instinct told him that he could trust Barrul, despite being a stoat. After a brief bit of hesitance, the young otter shook the stoat's paw.

"I'm Alaerr Starrfisher. Pleased to mecheew. Can I ask as to what caused you to slam into me like that?"

The stoat seemed embarrassed, but then looked over his shoulder fearfully. He wrung his paws and chuckled nervously. "He he…er, well ye see mah bonny friend, Ah may 'ave run intae a wee bit o' trouble on yon mountain. An auld fox beastie by the name o' Ethka may be after meh since Ah called 'im a bush-tailed bounder an' a cowardly slawb tae boot! Sae we best be runnin' now, ye ken?"

Alaerr was astounded. "You insulted Ethka the healer?! That fox doesn't leave his enemies alive! C'mon, we better hurry!"

He dragged the stoat after him into the forest, ignoring bushes and tree branches snagging at fur and clothing. Barrul tried to keep up, having no choice since Alaerr had his paw in an iron grip. He shouted to his new friend as the forest blurred around them.

"Ah'm glad ye've taken a shine tae meh, but could ye no' lessen yer grip lest ye pull mah paw off friend?"

**END- Not a very good scene, I apologize.**


	2. Molespeech

**A/N: Hello, I said molespeech draft, and here we are! Fair warning, it's not very good (Story wise at least) and probably won't show up in the fanfiction (Which'll be titled "The North"). I will probably post a prologue soon for it but that fanfic and this here practice one mayn't be updated for awhile. I have to work on my priority story "Sacrifice" (I promised when I first started it that it would be priority, sorry for inconveniences). These are actual characters for the fic, but this isn't necessarily a solid scene. Just something random to practice molespeech. **

**Thank you **** 2000**** and ****Lepidolite Mica**** for reviewing.**

**Well, here it is. Er, enjoy?**

**DISCLAIMER****: **_**Redwall**_** and other such related books of this series are owned by the wonderful Sir Brian Jacques, If I was an eighth as good a writer, I'd be rich as all heck.**

…Belth was a middle aged mouse with the twin titles of abbey gardener and beekeeper. Besides being a humorous and joyful beast, he was responsible and took his duties very seriously. He was also fiercely protective of his vegetable patch. At the moment he was worriedly hurrying through the abbey grounds in search of a particular beast, becoming more and more agitated with each growing moment that he didn't find them.

Skipper Torkka was walking among the abbey grounds when he saw Belth anxiously running around. He was a sturdy male otter chieftain approaching his older seasons and knew that something must've been wrong by how Belth frantically ran to and fro. He hailed the gardener.

"Ho! Are ye alright Belth matey? Ye seem more agitated than a bundle o' wasps done up in a sack. Anything I can help ye with?"

Belth went over to the otter, shaking his head, "Not unless you know where Foremole Calger is."

Torkka scratched his head, looking slowly around the abbey grounds and pondering upon Belth's question. "Nay, sorry matey. I don't recall where the foremole went to. Can ye tell me why ye need 'er so urgently?"

Brother Belth sighed and launched into an explanation. "well, ye see, I went ta check on my vegetable patch, since there were those rough winds last night, and what do I find? A large oak limb that had fallen over the walls crushing all my poor vegetables! That's why I need to find Calger, so that I can ask 'er if'n she an' her mole crew'll move it for me!"

"Et bain't be a gurt proberlem, zurr. Moi crew'll taken care of et, us'n's will!"

Brother Belth swung around with a squeak of surprise. Foremole Calger, a young female mole with dark velvet fur, stood behind him. She had walked over after hearing the last bit of Belth and Torkka's conversation. She had no problems helping her friend.

Belth was surprised at the sudden appearance, but overjoyed at the help. He clasped his paws together and exclaimed, "Oh, thank you friend! What a wonderfully kind creature you are!"

Calger shuffled her footpaws awkwardly, as moles are apt to do when faced with such compliments. "Hurr hurr, nay zurr, oi'm only a zimple molefolk, oi am. Us'n's will move ee gurt brancher furr ye, 'cuz you'm a friend, naught 'cuz of yon silverer tongue of yourn." …

**I apologize, this isn't very good, but it gets the idea across.**


	3. Dibbun

**A/N: Here we go, Dibbuns!**

**Well, actually, not a very young Dibbun, but not old enough to be considered a teen-aged creature either. Like I said, most characters are already planned out, so these are official characters. After this I'll probably do shrews, Hares (Resident Redwall hare), vermin, crows, Salamandastron hares, etc.**

**This is the first accent I'm doing without having taken any notes, so it mayn't be as good.**

**I will probably post a prologue to "The North" soon, but don't know when I'll update next. I'm not sure if I want the main battle to be in the northern mountains, have a bunch of highland vermin attack Redwall Abbey, or what.**

**Thank you **** 2000**** for reviewing, it is greatly appreciated.**

**Also, once more, although the characters are official, this specific scene isn't.**

**DISCLAIMER:**** I love **_**Redwall**_**, alas, I do not own it.**

…There was no sight equal to or more beautiful than that of Redwall abbey in late Spring.

Except, perhaps, that of Redwall Abbey in Summer. Or Autumn. Or Winter.

It depended on the beast's personal experience of being at the Abbey during those seasons to choose a favourite. Which even the Abbeydwellers admit is difficult.

Alaerr gazed upwards, straining his neck as he took in full sight of the ancient, red sandstone walls. Beside him, Barrul whistled in appreciation, and Alaerr couldn't help but agree. The sheer size and beauty astounded Alaerr, and he couldn't begin to fathom what the inner grounds must be like. He shook himself out of his pondering, and knocked upon the huge main door. They both waited.

**LINE BREAK LINE BREAK LINE BREAK LINE BREAK**

Zillan Farspark was a sturdy, young adult male otter with nightdark fur. He was one of the two abbey gatekeepers, and was a very sensible and responsible beast. At the moment he was beside the ancient gatehouse scolding a little Dibbun (The traditional name for young abbeybeasts) shrewmaid, who was covered dark inkstains and had a scowl set on her little face. Zillan was speaking to her in a friendly, but no-nonsense tone, and waggled his paw disapprovingly.

"Now miz Tiggan you know better than to be'ave that way during abbeyschool. Sister Pearwin was very upset that ye disrupte' her class, _an'_ wasted all that perfecterly good ink! Why did ye get into a fight with little Thrit anyhoo? I thought 'e was yore friend?"

Her scowl deepened even more as she growled, "S'cause Thrit a-called me nasty-names an' pincha me tail. I gots fruskerated an' dumpa'd ink on 'is stoopa face!"

Zillan tutted. "That still wasn't very nice. T'll talk ta little Thrit, but I want ye to apologize to 'im an' Miz Pearwin, unnerstood?"

Tiggan nodded reluctantly, but knew she was getting off fairly lightly.

Zillan nodded once, satisfied. "Good. Now I'll just 'ave to talk ta young master Thrit an'-"

A strong, solid knock sounded on the gates, cutting the dark otter to pause. He motioned for the little shrewmaid to keep quiet, and then quietly went up to the gates. He put his ear against the large wooden door and listened for the sounds of the other beast. Another few loud knocks sounded, causing Zillan to jump back from the gate.

Then a loud voice hollered out, "Hello, anybeast there? Hellooooooo? We've been waiting for somebeast to let us in!"

"Ah dinnae think they can hear us lad. Mayhaps ye can be a wee bit louder? Mair like this," a second voice bellowed out, "Hallo there friends! Can ye no' open up fer an 'onorable otter an' a starvin' stoat? We would be grateful tae no' be left 'ere all day lang!"

"Barrul, I don't think-"

The large doors swung open, Zillan noting that the first voice was an otter. Indeed, a young male otter stood before him, with eyes the colour of the warm sandy shores. The other beast next to him however…


	4. ShrewGuosim

**A/N: not gonna lie, I was very frustrated with this one, and I'm a bit disappointed with it. Good thing this isn't an official scene. Alaerr mayn't even meet the Guosim, although they will be in the fanfic.**

**Now, here's the thing. I've got the prologue for "The North" done. I kinda have a sketch of the story, but haven't written any other chapters. Hopefully I can post the Prologue soon.**

**I would like to thank **** 2000**** for still following up with this, and thank you to anyone else who has been reading.**

**Now, an Announcement:**

**IMPORTANT NOTICE: I have been having problems with my copu (computer) and the next few foreseeable months appear to be very busy. I will try to write as many chapters as I can for this, but will be unable to type, and therefore, post. I WILL be writing though, so no fear, I'm not abandoning this. Repeat, I Am ****NOT**** abandoning this. Thank you for your consideration.**

**~RachnochSurren**

**DISCLAIMER:**** If I were Brian Jacques, I'd be British guy. I am not British, nor a male. Therefore, you can conclude I don't hold any ownership of the Redwall universe. Only these OCs.**

…The deep waters of the River Moss shone dark, green, and sunlight dappled. Fish swam lazily, all an assortment of dull hues and sizes. Every once in a while, one of them would leap clear of the water to catch a bug, only to land with a loud _Clap!_ sound as they hit the water. Bees, flies, and dragonflies flew 'round amidst the trees of Mossflower woods, the lush forest close to the banks of the river.

If a creature were to glance up, they would see a roof of green foliage with dapples of the blue summer sky. Soft, echo-e birdsong drifted up 'mongst the trees, as though ancient Mossflower wood itself were singing. It was a day that made young hearts rejoice, happy to be alive.

And how happy he was! Alaerr hummed an old ottersong, fast paced and frivolous, skipping and twirling every now and again. He'd just landed after a jump- aided by his fishing pole, when he heard sounds behind him. A chatter of voices- some were laughing gruffly, whilst others argued fiercely- reached his ears. Before he could turn to find out what was causing such a ruckus, a gruff voice hailed him.

" 'Ello there otter! Where are ye travelin' on this fine day, eh?"

Alaerr turned to see a procession of logboats slow almost to a halt, allowing a scruffy shrew to hop up onto the bank. The shrew gave a warm smile and thrust out a paw.

"Bilum Broadbank, Log a Log of the Guosim. That's _G_uerrilla _U_nion _O_f _S_hrews _I_n _M_ossflower, incase ye aren't educated. An' who are yew?"

Alaerr took in the shrew's appearance before answering. He was a younger beast, not quite middle aged, with scruffy fur and a roguish look. Like most Guosim, he had a small rapier tucked in his broad belt, and wore a headband over his brow. Unlike most Guosim, however, his was a darker jade green rather than a bright colour. Alaerr shook the shrew's outstretched paw, surprised by the small creature's strength.

The otter's yellow eyes flashed kindly as he introduced himself. "Alaerr Starrfisher. Not _going_ anywhere in particular. Jus' Travelling."

The shrew chuckled heartily. " _Jus' travellin'_? Nobeast I've ever met jus' traverses wi' no aim. Ye talk mighty fancy fer a traveler. Well, come aboard Alaerr Starrfisher. I'm sure ye can res' an' take a bite to eat. We're headed for the water meadows for lunch, ye can join us. Maybe tell us a tale or two of yer travels, hmm?"

The young otter pondered on his offer for a moment, tapping his chin. After a moment, he gave on decisive nod. "Alright Sir Log a Log. I could do with some good food. Plus, I'd like to hear a story too."

Log a Log Bilum grinned, and strode back towards the logboats, calling over his shoulder, "Well c'mon then, don't got all day. An' ye can call me Log a Log, none of that 'Sir' stuff. Makes me feel older than the mossflo'r woods."

Alaerr followed behind him, smiling. "Fair enough. But call me Alaerr, I don't like being referred to by my full name."

Both beasts hopped down onto one of the seven logboats filled to the brim with spikey furred shrews dressed similarly to Bilum. Chattering voices began to pick up like a gale, most shouting questions at Alaerr and Log a Log, others arguing about various matters. The shrew chieftain winked at Alaerr, who had covered his ears to block out the cacophony of voices. Suddenly, Log a Log threw back his head and roared out like thunder.

"Logalogalogalogalooooooooog!"

Every shrew fell dead silent and waited for their chieftain to speak. Seeing that he had every eye on him, Bilum cleared his throat and spoke loudly so all his shrews would hear him.

"This 'ere otter," he began, patting Alaerr's shoulder with a hefty paw, "Calls hisself Alaerr Starrfisher. 'E's gonna be our guest fer lunch, so I wants ye all on yore bes' be'avoir, allright?"

The shrews began muttering in agreement. Suddenly a scuffle broke out in the back of one logboat. Soon, a few more quarrels followed. Alaerr flinched at the increasing noise and spoke loudly to Log a Log, "Are they always like this?"

Bilum laughed. " O' course! You never met a shrew afore, young'un? No matter, first time fer everythin'. We'll be at ther water meadows soon 'nuff. They'll calm down a piece there." He cupped his paws and yelled up to the stern of the logboat, "Skaut! Lead this 'ere rabble to ther water meadows, will ye? I wanna 'ave lunch somewhere peaceful afore we set sail fer Redwall."

Alaerr's gold eyes brightened considerably. "Redwall Abbey? I've never been there before. I've heard tales though. What's it like? Is it really as wonderful as it sounds?"

Log a Log grinned at the eager traveler. "It's a beautiful place Alaerr. I'll tell ye all about it when we gets ter the water meadows. Then ye can decide if ye'd like ta tag along…"


	5. Vermin and Vermin-Highland

**A/N: Here's Vermin accent #1: General! Most are highland-vermin, but you get the point. It's more of the fox's accent (Taken from Badredd's gang from **_**Loamhedge**_**). **

**By the way, this is a real genetic mutation among red foxes called the 'bastard gene' (scientists are pleasant, aren't they?)**

**Now I mayn't update this for awhile. When I do, it'll probably be a Redwall hare accent.**

**Why, you ask? Quite simple.**

**I am finally going to start the fic for this, "The North"!**

**I have the prologue, and I'll try to do the first chapter soon =). This scene will probably be altered.**

**Thank you ****Lepidolite Mica**** and **** 2000**** for following this and your reviews. I hope this was a better length. (The actual chapters in the actual fic with be longer and better planned out.)**

**So, yeah. Here you go, all you people out there.**

**DISCLAIMER:** **I would never wish to own **_**Redwall**_**, I am happy it's Sir Brian Jacques who wrote the series. I probably would have butchered it.**

…The winter winds howled their dirge of death amongst the snow-caked mountains of the Northlands. Nobeast would dare travel in such weather, and Ethlegg knew so. But he wouldn't dare ignore the request of his Lord, Turran the Conqueror.

The weasel stopped for a moment and pulled his squirrel-fur cloak closer. He had to pause for a moment to get his bearings amid the blazing white wind. His hazel eyes roamed the snowy landscape, looking for it…there! The palest gray, barely distinguishable amid the white of the snow. Ethlegg hurried towards it.

In the depths of the cave, the only sound heard was the whisper of the wind, though the bone-chilling cold of the storm was still prevalent. A few glowing lanterns were pegged to the cave walls, illuminating the stalactites and stalagmites framed by soft shadow. A decent-sized pool of water dominated the back of the cave, its dark waters receding in the dark to the back wall. Its silky surface rippled whenever a falling drop struck its surface. A figure stood crouched, kneeling in front of the pool. In the creatures right paw was a small pouch of some sort, which he gripped tightly now and again.

Ethlegg saw the fox and approached cautiously. He had noted the healer's posture, and tried not to startle him. It was bad luck to startle a healer- or so he'd been told. Rather, _he_ was startled when the fox spoke.

"Turran sent ye?"

The fox stood and turned around before he could answer, yellow-amber eyes glowing eerily. He wasn't that tall, but he had a slim build, increasing the appearance of his height. His fur was patched russet-orange and smokey gray-black, a white tip on his tail. He wore a gray-brown tunic and a slim belt with a dagger thrust in it. He still gripped the small black pouch in his right paw.

Ethlegg finally nodded, then said, "Turran sent mah tah ye. 'E wants tah 'ear yer advice, Ethka."

The fox snorted. "Advice? Yew mean 'e wants ta know if'n I've 'ad any signs." He sighed, then spoke again, "Alright, lead me to 'im. I'll speak wid the boss – He'll want ta hear wot I've learned."

Ethlegg shifted nervously, the healer always made him edgy. He started to walk away, calling over his shoulder as he did so, "Guid! Best no' tah keep aer Laird waitin' any langer."

The weasel lead Ethka through the blistering cold snow, keeping the healer in sight, but always staying a bit ahead. Ethka smiled inwardly. This fool, second in command of Turran's forces, was _terrified_ of him. It gave the fox a sense of power, which he _gladly_ held onto. If only the warlord was scared of him. Rather, Ethka couldn't help but be fearful of him. Ah well, he was superstitious enough to listen to the healer's council. He never made a move without consulting his seer.

Soon they made it to the camp, an area sheltered from the worst of the snow. A motley of vermin crouched there, away from the clawing wind, and huddled together around dwindling fires or in poorly constructed tents. One tent was closer to the pillar of stone fending off the biting wind. It was much larger than the others, and nowhere near in as bad condition as the others. Light could be seen shining through the material, and the warm smell of roasted meat drifted from it.

As the commander and healer made their way to the tent, walking among the sea of half-frozen vermin. They all leaned away from the healer, some scrambling away as quickly as they could. The fox had to fight hard to keep his face stoic.

A burly ratguard saluted with his spear as they approached. Swiftly, he drew back the tent fold so that they could enter.

Flickering gold from the torches cascaded across the canvas walls and embedded the atmosphere with the smoldering heat of power. A maroon colored rug laid on the ground, trailing up to a regally carved pine chair (It looked more like a throne to Ethka). At the foot of the chair was a plate with the bones of some sort of bird – recently finished – and a half-empty wine goblet. Ethka took this all in with a glance. His eyes strayed to the figure on the chair. He stayed silent, waiting for the figure to speak.

Turran the Conqueror could be summed up with one word – power. Broad-chested and a head taller than the rest, the stoat was a force to be reckoned with. His green eyes blazed with the reflection of the torch-light, his expression stoic and menacing at the same time. He wore a kilt made from the pelt of some long-forgotten enemy – vermin, Ethlegg noted every time – and broad, steel paw bracelets encircled his wrists. The warlord could take on any enemy in claw-and-tooth combat, but preferred his hefty javelin, which was always close at paw. It leaned against his chair, and impressive weapon that'd take nearly three vermin to wield.

Ethka's pale eyes betrayed no emotion as he waited for the warlord to speak. Behind him he could sense Ethlegg, full of fear inspired awe for his master. Any who had seen what the warlord was capable of felt the same. Gathering his courage, the weasel commander bowed and announced their presence.

"Ah've brought the fox ta ye, mah Laird. Is thair anythin' else ye want, mah Laird?"

Turran said nothing, merely dismissing him with a flick of his paw. Bowing once more, the commander turned and left the tent.

Ethka watched the weasel go, then placing a paw on his chest, bowed low before Turran. "Ye called, my Lord?"

Turran merely growled, "What 'ave ye seen?"

Ethka bowed his head, carefully selecting his words. One must always be careful around a warlord. When he lifted his head, he adopted a distant, wizened look, and spoke in a low, but powerful, tone.

"I have spoken wid the winds from above the mountains, t'the ones below. The spirits 'midst the snow have spoken ta yore servant. Will ye lissen ta them?"

The warlord was off of his small throne so fast, that the claws digging into Ethka's chest weren't felt until blood began to flow along the warlord's claws. He brought his face close to the fox's, roaring, "Tell me mah future! Where shall Ah go an' who shall I conquer? Where shall Ah rule o'er nex'?!"

Ethka's voice rose, becoming higher pitched as he howled, "Blood! I see a buildin' o' blood! A castle ta be conquered! The winds o' the dead 'ave spoken! Turran shall rule the castle o' blood!"

He dropped the fox suddenly, wiping his claws off on his kilt. Staring at the fox expressionlessly, he spoke one word. "Where?"

Quick as a flash, Ethka leapt up, ignoring his wound, and threw something into a nearby torch. It flashed bright green, the flame growing for a moment, then died down and returned to its normal color. Turning back to the Conqueror, he spoke, pointing to the warlord's face.

"Green! Are my Lord's eyes not green? Green eyes shall find what they seek in a green land. Yew must lead yore 'orde t'the land of green an' conquer the castle o' blood. Ye must slaughter its inhabitants, turning the stones even darker beneath 'em. Only when ye feed the stones wid their blood, will ye rule the blood-colored buildin'. This is what they 'ave shared wid me…"


	6. Notice

**Sorry, but this is just a notice. The next chapter will be posted as the next chapter (this will just stay up).**

**I plan to start **_**The North**_** soon, so I will be taking a break from accent practice for a bit. I'm not sure when I will start the fic, and updates will be sporadic. I apologize for any inconvenience.**

**The next chapter for this will be 'Resident Redwall Hare'. Thank you for all who have viewed/reviewed so far. Feel free to review this or PM me if you have any questions/concerns.**

**In response to **** 2000**** : Thanks very much! ^-^. I don't find it that difficult in switching between accents – only trying to remember **_**who's**_** speaking **_**when**_**. And I was surprised, I find your English to be fine in writing/typing. The only mistakes I've seen are ones I commonly make. Kudos for trying to understand through translating though! And Good luck with your computer!**

**Thank you for everyone's time and patience.**

**~Sirrius The Moonblade (Rachnoch Surren)**


	7. Salamandastron Prelude:The things before

**A/N: Sorry guys 'bout the wait with both this and **_**The North**_**. I plan to update my story as soon as possible. Besides life getting in the way, I got a random Fanficwriter asking to be my Beta, so I asked them "For what story? Could you also tell me exactly how Betaing works?" and then got no response. A week later I checked 'em out, and they have written Redwall stories. So I figured, "Oh, they probably wanna Beta 'The North'." They still haven't responded and it's been awhile. So I'll probably go ahead and update the first official chapter soon, and if they never respond, then forget about having a Beta. I wouldn't mind one, it's just I'm not really **_**searching**_** for one. And I think I've been doing okay without one. *Shrugs* Oh well.**

**Thanks to any who have commented/read/followed/etc. This is a little gift; I make reference to Salamandastron, the Badger Lord here, and the Haremaid here in my main fic, although you don't meet them.**

**This is NOT my Badger/Salamandastron Hare accent chapter. There's too little dialogue here for that.**

**Also, Alaerr is probably the equivalent to an 8 or 12 year old; in my main fic he's between 19 and 21. So, enjoy?**

**DISCLAIMER:**** *Gasp* I couldn't be worthy of owning such a wonderful and beautiful world as the **_**Redwall Series**_**.**

… Alaerr the otter had found himself in a peculiar situation.

He was a young otter, and a wanderer, having had no parents for a considerable amount of time. He couldn't recall exactly what had happened - he had been too young. There was a memory warped in haze of leaving a moss-covered log, where he _knew_ his parents lie dead, somewhere in the south-east woods too far to be considered a part of Mossflower. He had a vague inkling that they had died of some sort of sickness. The only thing he knew with absolute certainty was that he had been alone for as long as he could remember.

So, although a friendly creature in nature, he wasn't the most social of otters.

But now, here he was, in the Badger Lord's personal chambers in Salamandastron with a _Hare_, one of the most social creatures he had ever met. Though Noma was not nearly as garrulous as most of the hares in the Long Patrol.

She was a Haremaiden with fur the color of thistledown and a smile brighter than the sun itself. She had found him wandering down the shores, provisionless, and a few days too hungry. he had actually been travelling to the hazy shape of the mountain fortress when the bright-eyed hare had found him. He was rugged and clutching a still-wet yellow starfish when she'd found him.

Noma's heart had gone out to him immediately, so she brought him with her home. Ignoring curious glances and boisterous inquiries upon entering the stone anthill, she carried him up to the Lord of Salamandastron's chambers. None questioned her further. They all knew Noma did as she pleased.

As they waited - Alaerr drinking hot mushroom and leek soup - the haremaid tried to make small talk. He could tell she wasn't the most comfortable and practiced at it; as they entered he could tell that she was almost anti-social among the other hares. She was also not as frivolous with words.

"My name's Noma; when his lordship found me as a tiny haremaiden he named me that since I 'ad no name. He's basically my pa. What 'bout you, laddie? Ye have a name?"

He had been staring at his beaker of soup the whole time, where his still-chubby paws (despite the rest of him being thin from hunger) were wrapped around its warmth. He glanced at the starfish on his lap, bright against his worn, simple clothes as he thought of what to say. He had a first name, but not a last. He liked the little five-pointed 'fish' and had a wonderful idea.

His eyes flickered up to Noma shyly, with pale, sand-yellow eyes. They were the oddest eyes she'd ever seen, Noma thought. And young too. He was almost a teen-aged creature, but still too young to be alone for so long.

"I call m'self Alaerr...Starrfisher," he said in a well-educated voice. Where he learned such fine talk she'd never know. She saw a sort of wisdom in his eyes before he flicked them back down to his beaker. "Dunno about my parents; I've been on my own a long time now."

Although there was no bitterness nor pain in his voice, Noma felt sorry for him. But before a sympathetic remark could be made, a deep, booming voice spoke out.

"An' you look to have done well fer yourself despite it. Now, Noma. Bringing strangers into my chambers without permission _Again?_" The hare's ears dropped halfway and she grinned sheepishly. But then perked up when the Badger Lord continued (for it was he).

"But you did well, daughter." the figure stepped out and spread his large paws in greeting. "I am Lord Silv Winterstripe. Welcome to Salamandastron, young Alaerr; to the mountain of the fire lizard!"

He strode forth from the shadows, and Alaerr couldn't help but gape up at him in awe. Lord Silv Winterstripe, though no bigger than most male badgers of his age, was the most imposing and intimidating creature he had ever encountered. His fur was soft and shiny; Rich, coal black with stripes of the whitest fur that could exist. He wore a dark, brown-red tunic with a brown belt-cord where a great, silver battle axe resided. He was different from the badgers of Alaerr's imagination; Gruff, dusty beasts that held stoic expressions as though they had just returned from battle. But Lord Silv's smiling face was nothing but kind and soft. Alaerr decided not to make such hasty assumptions in the future.

The badger lord's silver eyes (a sharp, pale gray) shone in amusement. He chuckled good-humouredly and said, "I see you've never met a Badger Lord afore, young one. Well now you can say ye have!" When his chuckling had died down (though Noma was still laughing raucously) he asked, "Now; have you had enough to eat?"

He nodded dumbly in response, but Noma - having decided to dial down the cackling a bit - remarked, "Barely ate a beakerful; skinny lad."

Lord Winterstripe shook his head at Noma, "I wouldn't think so; not like 'e can shove away as much as you, Noma!" They both dissolved back into laughter.

The evening went back and forth with laughter and merriment. They had even convinced Alaerr to stay at least a few days (though it would become a few seasons) so that he could learn some survival and fighting tips from the Long Patrol. As evening began its descent, so did Alaerr's pale yellow eyes, until they finally dropped shut like the sun behind the horizon. Taking advantage, Noma asked a hushed question.

"He looks awfully like that otter fellow, what's-his-name. Y'know, the one who visited when I was a leveret. The wanderin' one; perhaps they're related?"

"You mean Rillbrook the Wanderer. Aye, I c'n see what ye mean. But he died many seasons back; General Bluebell brought back a report after finding his body. Perhaps he was an uncle? Or an uncle's uncle?" Silv Winterstripe scratched his muzzle.

Noma shrugged; she wasn't one to make a hazard guess. "Per'aps. But it's late now and I'm on Patrol first thing in th'mornin'. There'll be more time fer gusses and perhapses."

"Ye're right," he sighed. He stood up, stretching and yawning. He watched as Noma scooped up the young otter to take to the barracks. "Goodnight, Noma."

"G'night M'lord."

The Shores of Salamandastron stood deserted in the silver moonlight as dark waves heaved across the shore. …


End file.
